


On The Fly

by PeopleInThatBackRoom



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Come Inflation, Counselor Japan, Dubious Consent, Inflation, Other, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 04:11:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11200176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeopleInThatBackRoom/pseuds/PeopleInThatBackRoom
Summary: It was pretty much an average week, in Japan's opinion--working on that game he was making with England, catering to America's hyper-activeness, having discussions with Hungary, etc..—and so, when an opportunity came along to spruce up the complacent pace the week was, he eagerly took it.Said opportunity was to counsel Turkey and Sweden and cool tensions on both sides. That day, something does cool their tensions, but it's definitely not Japan.





	On The Fly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SandGambler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandGambler/gifts).



It was pretty much an average week, in Japan's opinion--working on that game he was making with England, catering to America's hyper-activeness, having discussions with Hungary, etc..—and so, when an opportunity came along to spruce up the complacent pace the week was, he eagerly took it.  

The said opportunity was from his friend Greece, who complained that Turkey wouldn't stop going on and on about how awful Sweden was, much to the Asian nation's surprise.  

"Something to do with Iceland." Greece had told him over the phone. Since that point, Japan had made it his goal to see what had happened on both sides, and invited Turkey and Sweden to his house later in the week--an invitation neither declined.  

The day had now arrived, and he was in the kitchen, finishing up preparations for another event later that day, waiting for his two guest to show. Hungary was there with him, leaning against the countertop, occasionally jotting down notes in the notebook she always brought with her.  

“-so, I told them I would help them out— _and_.... ”  

“Yes?” Japan was practically at the edge of his metaphorical seat, too caught up in Hungary's story to even pay attention to the tea he was brewing.  

“And I-”  

_Rap-rap-rap._

“Eh?” Hungary furrowed her brows in confusion, mirroring Japan's own puzzlement.

 _What was that?_ He wondered—but soon decided the noise wasn't that great of an importance. “Yes, yes, continue, Hungary-san.”

“Oh yes, where was I?” Hungary began, picking up where she left off, only for the duo to be interrupted again.

_Rap-rap-rap-rap-rap._

The scene played out as it did before, with Hungary stopping mid-story, leaving Japan large fragments unknown from her tale—only this time, instead of fretting over it, realization floods his face.

“Please excuse me, Hungary-san.” Japan says, leaving the kitchen to answer the door. Upon opening it, he sees Turkey standing on the doorstep, the small scowl gracing the currently unmasked nation's face and his folded-arm gesture telling Japan all he needs to know about his visitor's current mood.  

“Greetings, Turkey-san. I apologize for having you wait at the door.” the beefy nation smiles at him, his eyes quickly softening. “I was not aware of your presence.”

Turkey excuses himself for his impatience, Japan insists there is no need to and blames the incident on himself and soon enough their common courtesies reach full circle. Following their showdown of polite gestures he leads Turkey in the house to a room not too far off from the kitchen, and allows his guest to make himself comfortable while he finishes the tasks he was occupied with beforehand— _and_ to hear the rest of what Hungary-san had to say, of course.  He's only able to squeeze a few more delicious details from her before there's another _rap-rap-rap_ at the door, and he goes again, answering it despite his longing for closure of a story started twenty minutes ago, at the least.

Answering it reveals Sweden, standing on the doorstep as Turkey had been earlier, the Swede's mood as casual as his clothes, his face not giving away much for Japan to go on—if he doesn't include the muscular nation's raised brows, which only indicated his acknowledgement of the door opening—so the petite nation settles on a simple: “Greetings, Sweden-san. Thank you for making this journey,” and for extra measure, “I hope you will feel most welcomed here.” not quite as.....charming as America-san would put it, but by the Swede's curt nod, it was acceptable.

He leads Sweden to the same room he left Turkey in, and stays long enough to soak in the newly-found tension circulating the room as his two guests glare while frigidly addressing each other—“sizing each other up,” America-san would say. He does not stay too much longer after that, and tells them he will return after he tends to some uncompleted tasks. Taking time away from their silent battle, Turkey grunts in admission and once more, Sweden nods.  

“The bathroom is the fourth to the right after a short trek leftward, and,” he makes to leave, his hands grasping the door. “if you should ever need me, I will be down the hall on the left, two rooms down from the first room on the right.” they are more dismissive over this information, but acknowledge it all the same, and he takes off, ready to finish what he had begun much earlier in the day, and once and for all, get to the end of Hungary-san's story.

Adding the finishing touches on what he needed for later in the day, he listens to Hungary-san divulge quite thoroughly into the details of Austria and Prussia's intimate time, and vaguely wonders if it was truly alright to leave his two guests unmonitored—especially with their high amount of aggression towards one another.  

No, Turkey-san was not one to act so immaturely in another's house. He was not too sure about Sweden-san, but he believed the latter to at least be passive aggressive unless provoked—essentially closing his mind to any further doubts and fully concentrating on what Hungary-san was saying.  

Sitting across from the Swede, locked in a glaring match with the wall behind the paler nation, if Turkey had known Japan thought just as much he wouldn't feel as drawn to wanting to throttle the only other person in the room with him, but as Fate would have it, he had no such clue of what the petite nation was thinking and so felt justified in trying to bore holes into the Swede with his eyes, every second adding pressure on the already fuming hatred he had for the be-speckled bastard.

What business was it of his to know what Iceland did in his spare time? Did European nations really have to be so controlling of each other? Couldn't the boy—no, intelligent young man—experience other cultures and have friends outside of the rigid, dull circle of melanin-lacking Europeans? Not every outside influence was a threat, nor was every friendship a strategic alliance—not that those much younger, paranoia-drenched nations would know. He did not exactly blame them for their mindset, especially with all that they've experienced over the last couple of centuries; they were so young, and very much afraid for what the future entailed. They hadn't yet learned how to endure and stay vigilant in their circumstances as their elders had, and this was showing all too well.

No matter how much he empathized with them, it wouldn't stop him from becoming annoyed at their _constant_ need to shut out everything that wasn't regulated or supervised by one of their own. For nations advocating for freedom, they really were a pain in his ass.

Or, perhaps it was just Sweden.

Sweden wasn't Iceland's parent. They barely communicated, from what Turkey had seen. If anything, the be-speckled nation was always around that Finland-fellow. He was positive Iceland had more rich, fulfilling conversations with Hong Kong than with the pale, towering Scandinavian nation. So why did the Swede _feel_ responsible for Iceland when he made a friend out of the tightly knitted circle of the freezing five? _Why?_

Turkey's thoughts were getting a little more heated than he had originally intended. He honestly felt riled-up enough to punch the other nation in the room, and couldn't exactly pinpoint why he hadn't already. Maybe his desire for a legitimate explanation on Sweden's part outweighed his current want for violence. Or, perhaps his respect for Japan and the petite nation's offer of counseling was what kept him in check. Either way, he wasn't letting the Swede leave without proper clarification on his part.

Although, the chance of receiving any before Japan came back was quite slim. Even if Turkey had hundreds of accusations and questions for  him, the Swede wasn't yielding an inch. In fact, it was almost as if he wouldn't even acknowledge his presence.  Even after all the steps they had and were both taking to make peace and resolve this idiotic conflict. That _bastard._

The said bastard had actually gotten up during Turkey's monologue and was now heading for the door behind him, allegedly ignoring all the steam in the figurative holes Turkey had been glaring into the wall behind the Swede.

“Hey, imbecile! Where do you think you're going?”

Sweden merely raises his brows at Turkey, and leaves the room without any other sign of acknowledgement, verbal or otherwise—all which Turkey doesn't take well at all. His anger raises him off the chair and out the room, and soon, he and Sweden are far from it, heading leftward down the hallway. By this time, his anger only stood in tact because of the smallest tinge of curiosity as to where Sweden could possibly think he was leaving to. Did Sweden really assume that he was going to let the insolent way he avoided their conflict side? Obviously, there was much for the younger nation to learn. And he wouldn't say he was anything but determined to teach Sweden exactly that.

So he follows him, ignoring how smoggish, and basically unbreathable the tension between them was.  He follows him past long, thin hallways with entrances and exits that only serve as inadequate target's for his thinly veiled aggression towards the owner of the back keeping in line in front of him. His annoyance with the younger nation is unprecedented even by the his bias suspicions of Sweden's destination, and he completely misses the trick Sweden plays on him.

It was small. Barely noticeable at worst, and the fact that Turkey didn't catch it made it all the better. Perhaps if Turkey was in a clearer state of mind, he would have caught the extra turn they had made, but by some luck or another, Sweden hid it flawlessly— not that he was doubting his own skill at being subtle, however, it would be foolish of him to underestimate the other nation. His silent celebration of one-upmanship only lasts so long before he's shoved into a door, Turkey's knuckles digging into his collar bone. He glares at Turkey, his own fist balled up in preparation to land a quick blow on the other nation. He doesn't get the chance too, as the door he was press up against gives way under their collective weight, sending them tumbling backwards down a set of stairs to a gray, unfurnished, storage keeping-like room.

He doesn't know how to feel about the other nation's body mass underneath him—sure, it was accidental, not that Turkey would see it that way; with the look he was giving him, Sweden was certain the other nation wanted to skin him alive—but he puts he feelings aside to lift his weight off of Turkey, whose glare seemed to gain strength every second Sweden stayed atop of him. A little disoriented, but standing on his own two feet again, Sweden felt the tension melt away from between them; though the exact reason why was less than savory. Something felt odd; off even, about the room they had tumbled into. No, it wasn't the uncomfortableness of laying on hard floor surface-turned ice cubes, nor was it the lacking of much light—it was the room. It felt _bizarre._ Too bizarre even for him. Almost like there was something inherently wrong with this room. Something dark.

Though apparently even this wouldn’t deter Turkey, or his rage.

 _“Are you trying to start something?”_ Sweden thinks, hoping his glare conveys this thought clearly.

“ _Oh_ , I am trying to start something? I am trying?” Turkey says, his words becoming more and more of an outward manifestation of exactly how much tolerance he had for Sweden.  

Sweden is startled, to say in the least, when he hears Turkey address his question directly; almost as if Sweden had said it aloud. If he did, it was fine. Better he say it than-

Creak. _Creeeeeaaaak_ . _Creak-creak-creak._

“Eh?”

The next thing Sweden knew, he and Turkey both had their heads turned and their eyes searching for whatever could have made those sounds, only for their sights to land on the northeast corner of the room. There were giant legs coming from the corner; neon pink, blue, and purple and with a longer look, a lot thicker than they would initially come off to be. Holding them together was a bright tulip shaped core of flashing lights that connected to an equally flashing, tilted, balloon-shaped head. On it was a faded, pink anime-esque smiley face; upbeat and completely unaware of the dark corner it was hidden away in.

It would have fit perfectly in say, a cyberpunk carnival setting. Here however, it looked just a tad bit unsettling glowing at a height of eight-foot tall in the deep corner of a closed-off storage room in Japan's house; as if it were a creature to be locked away, instead of the scraps of an old amusement ride. One thing was for certain: the contraption was placed here not to be bothered in any way.

He would be deceiving himself if he denied the small chord of curiosity that struck him when he looked at the out-of-place attraction. For one, even with all its easily viewed construction, it still carried an air about it that could almost be mistaken as real. However, for all his piqued interest in it, it was best for them to leave.

C-creak...... _crack_.

Sweden takes his eyes off the now glowing smiley face only to see that one of the tentacles on the far left had grabbed ahold of Turkey's leg, and had lifted him high up in the air.

 _Crack_ -crack-crack.

“Don't look at me! It's.....be-behind _you!_ ”

Sweden acts quickly, narrowing avoiding the neon tentacle than had come up behind him. He moves to the center-right; just barely out of reach of the massive tentacle monster, but safe enough for him to gather his surroundings.

Sweden, tense and pumped full of adrenaline, scans the animatronic contraption for weak spots or any other instances of movement aside from the tentacle holding Turkey high above by the leg. He is more than leery of the menacing machine, however, to his current knowledge there isn't to much movement to be seen, excluding its glowing eye slits, which appeared to be able to move independent of its head.

Currently, was distracted by Turkey's attempts of loosening the tentacle’s grip on his leg, but Sweden had a suspicion it was looking at him through the corner of its eye. Whether or not the suspicion was right, he would not allow it to deter him from his plan of action—leave and find help.

Without a moment to lose, Sweden sprints to the exit, his jaw firmly clenched and his hands ready to tear through whatever was left of the door that would possibly hinder him. To his dismay, when he gets to the door, he finds it is no longer the remains he saw last time, but a fully fledged door bordered the room in its place. Not wanting to waste any time gawking at the impossibility of the new door’s arrival, he hurries to open it, however, he finds himself too late—a large, fleshy tentacle wraps itself tightly around his waist and _pulls_ rendering his grip on the door useless as he's lifted into the air and taken back into the deepest corners of the room, his and Turkey's fates undoubtedly sealed.

He looks around and that several tentacles have gathered to Turkey; one holding both his arms in place and two spreading his legs apart. There were two more that had ripped off Turkey's shirt and were vigorously tugging at his pants. Turkey was understandably alarmed at this, but deep inside his face, Sweden could see there was a concern that lied beyond the monstrosity subduing them; Turkey _knew_ something.

And judging by his reaction towards the tentacles that surrounded him, Sweden knew that whatever it was, it was something to dread.

As he contemplates what exactly could lie in store for them and how he could possibly prevent it, the rest of the beast’s tentacles came to him, however instead stripping him of his clothes as it did with Turkey, the tentacles coil tightly around him, squeezing around the cheeks of his supple bottom through his pants, and rubbing up and down his thighs, the friction of both causing two very different reactions from his body.

_What is-_

“ _H-hah_ ,” he breaths in sharply, balling his hands into fists as to just have control over _something_ while the creature’s appendages wrap around and fondle his body through his clothes; sliding up his pants and sucking his legs, _then_ going higher and touching-

 _“Aa-aahh,”_ —touching _his…._

The sensations are so strong Sweden can barely think clearly, however the tentacles don't stop there. They constrict his torso, massaging his pecs and rubbing their slippery selves over his clothed nipples, goading and teasing them out to erect out his shirt with expertly

They move even higher, and he swears loudly—they are sliding up his back, pressing hard against it, gliding over the small of it, then working their way up; they are wrapping around his arms and curling up to his shoulders; _sucking_ his shoulders, gripping them roughly, and he _groans_.

Sweden shivers when he feels the tentacles strip him of his clothes, then poke around his ass; he tenses up a bit when they start probing his hole— _Are they…?_

One tentacle breaches his hole for the briefest of times, and he attempts to squirm away.

_He’d tear apart!_

All his struggling and worrying is for naught however, as the tentacles begin secreting a thick, slimy substance, coating themselves entirely in it. They loosely wrap around his body, leaving a trail of stickiness everywhere they go, before continuing to probe at his hole again. One stays behind and gently suckles his cock, as if it were trying to reassure him.

“Ah-ngh…”

They feel _weird_ inside him. Not uncomfortable, but just enough to keep him squirming a little. They reach deeper into him and suddenly he sees stars— _that’s_ when it starts. One tentacle quickly pulls out while the other three rapidly assault his prostrate. He’s so _stuffed_ , but it doesn’t seem to matter now. All he can think about, all he can feel is the ever growing sensation of the tentacles throbbing through him, and how they dim all other sense of awareness until he’s only a moaning, bloated mess—almost as if the tentacles were very well expanding inside of him.  

“ _Ah-ah-hahhh_.”

He can manage moans and groans for a while, until to his sudden horror, he realizes how much more stuffed he feels after only a couple of moments. He hadn’t imagined it—the tentacles were _actually_ expanding inside him.

Not only that, but he felt as if they were pulsating; like they were several hoses full of water with nowhere to go but into his red, stretched hole. This snaps him out of his sexed stupor and he begins to flail and kick, all in vain, of course, with him only impaling himself further on the ever-enlarging appendages.

His panic doesn’t last too long and barely two minutes later he’s back to mindlessly being fucked; the crafty appendages talented enough to even rid him of his concern for the other nation trapped here with him and just how they were to escape.   

The said other nation was struggling fiercely against another batch of tentacles that very moment. For the most part, the monster had left Turkey alone, save for the tentacles holding him in place, in favor of toying with the recently caught Sweden or idly watching the ones that did. Alarmed, Turkey had helplessly watched Sweden fall to the tentacles—and now, the same monster had come his way.

Turkey struggles grow more violent with each approaching tentacle but a decent number of them manage to restrain him while the rest of the tentacles stood by waiting for them.

Boiling over with frustration and terror, Turkey shouts. His voice echoes off the walls and to his surprise and small glee, it makes the tentacles twitch. He shouts again, this time even louder and he’s _certain_ he feels them trembling, and so with all the might he can muster he continues. The tentacles only grip him tighter, much to his chagrin, but even that does not deter him, and soon the tentacles become a quaking mess.

He celebrates too soon and the very creatures he believed to be backing off strip him with a vengeance and firmly put hold him spread eagle. They waste no time coiling up his legs and at this he begins to shout. He is quickly silenced by two particularly large appendages that force their way into his mouth. They stretch his mouth wide—too wide for him to be able to bite them—and with his booming roars out the way, they slither freely along his body, picking and playing with every bit of flesh that is before them—particularly his nipples.

They pinch and tug at the erect nubs and he tenses under their attentive touch. Many of the tentacles resign to other parts on his body at his lack of pleasurable response, but one stays and of all things _twists_ his right nub and without a second thought he moans around the tentacles in his mouth. At the sound, the rest of the tentacles take his body viciously; roughly kneading his tan flesh, and occasionally slapping it until his voice was all gagged husky groans and his cock leaked incessantly.The tentacles waste no time lubing or preparing him, and very soon they stuff him full; keeping an iron grip on his hips as they roughly fuck his wide, reddening hole.

Turkey boils over with muffled moans and harsh panting, a warmth spreading over his body straight from his groin and his used hole. He tries to shake off the pleasurable vibrations of appendages, but he—he can’t _think_ clearly at all. The only thing on his mind is-

_H-hah-ahh._

With both nations subdued, the tentacles move at a more brutal pace, expanding inside their respective subjects until they are twice the size they originally were, leaving the two nations moaning, swollen shells of what they once were. Their increasing growth halts and they begin to vibrate, each tentacle secreting more slimy substance than ever before until they all _burst_ , filling both nations with hot, creamy gunk. The tentacles slowly lower the two, until the worn out, sticky, and completely bloated duo are back on the floor. Releasing the last bit of spunk on used bodies below, the tentacles retreat back to their place in the corner, and the ominous smiley face once again goes dark.

Sweden and Turkey don’t come to for a couple of minutes, but when they do, the two grab whatever was left of their clothes and bolt straight out the door. After they are certain the monster, nor its appendages are following them, their pace gradually slows down, and soon the duo make their way to the very bathroom Japan had told them about some time earlier. While washing up in the bathroom, neither say much of anything, only sparing an occasional glance at each other. However, once they finish, circumstances push speech on them, and without staring directly at the other, they began to talk.

“I cannot tell Japan.” Turkey blurts out, gripping the edge of his shirt. “Not like this.” Sweden nods in agreement and their conversation slowly dies down again—at least it would have if Sweden hadn’t tapped Turkey on the shoulder.

“What?” Turkey says, but his voice is more tired than truly annoyed.

“Here. Take ‘his,” Sweden tells him, dropping his shirt on to Turkey’s lap.

“What do I need with a jacket?,” Turkey protests, but Sweden just shakes his head.

“It’s for yo’r lower half.” Sweden says. Wordlessly, Turkey wraps the jacket around his waist, and the two head out, neither wanting to linger in one spot for too long—especially with the only other topic being their now-emptied, aching stomachs. They only get so far, however, before coming face to face with Hungary.

“What happened to you two?” she asks, doing a onceover of them. Her chipper voice breaks the heavy atmosphere that lagged behind the duo—and among things, makes them both wince, and struggle to come up with a suitable answer.

“Oh-”

“We were-”

Hungary cuts them off with a giggle, her earlier curious expression morphing into a bone-chilling smirk.

“Nevermind,” she says, her tone all-knowing. “You don’t _have too_ tell me. It's fine.” she says, heading on her way, leaving the duo confused and the smallest bit alarmed.

Neither of them dare to entertain the idea that Hungary _knows_ something, and walk back to the room Japan had left them in what felt like long ago.

Hungary on the other hand, dashes madly to Japan, her imagination over-ran by thoughts of what could have possibly happened between Turkey and Sweden.

“ _Japan_ ,” Hungary hisses excitedly, her nails practically clawing the counter.” you won’t believe this!”

“Hungary-san?” Japan says, a bit alarmed by her animated nature.

“Your guests—Turkey and Sweden, I _found_ them.”

“Yes? That is good news. Where are-”

“They were in the hall near the bathroom.”

“Oh?”

“Barely clothed—if you don’t count Sweden jacket around Turkey’s waist—and _reeking_ of-”

“ _Hungary-san._ ”

“Japan?”

“That is a nice story, Hungary-san, but I-”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I do not think that Turkey-san and Sweden-san would do such a thing together. If they would, I believe both are respectful enough not to do such acts in my house.”

Hungary leaves their conversation at that, and instead tells him of Sweden and Turkey's possible current whereabouts, before saluting him and heading on her way throughout the rest of his country. Japan thanks Hungary and wishes her safe travels, and sets off for the room he last left Sweden and Turkey in, hoping to get his own imagination under control before he sees either of the two nations again.

To his complete surprise, both nations are exactly how Hungary had described them—granted Sweden was only shirtless, but Turkey really was as Hungary said; jacket wrapped around his waist and all.

Neither of the two look at him, excluding the occasional—guilty?— glances shot his way. This only adds more fuel to the thoughts that burned brightly in his imagination, and with his mind going awry, he wonders how he will still be able to successfully counsel them without his mind drifting to less _appropriate_ matters.

Luckily, he doesn't have to. Almost immediately after Japan has worked himself into a dilemma Turkey excuses himself, thanks Japan, and politely declines his offer for counseling them. Sweden follows quickly after and soon enough Japan is left with an empty house and an active imagination.

+++

Meanwhile, at England's house, the magic-practicing nation sits alone in his basement, wide-eyed and red-faced at what he just saw.

Perhaps, he _should_ cut down on using spells as shortcuts while working on a project. Yes, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is about two months too late. So, so sorry I took so long! But hopefully it's to your liking? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I hope so!
> 
> (Oh and Happy late, late Birthday, Amy!)


End file.
